Draconian Ethics
by Girl Called Mozart
Summary: Deirdre and Santiago are locked in a brutal, covert vendetta. When the former comes to Zakharov seeking aid, the poor Russian receives more than he bargained for. (not exactly a PG-13 yet, but it will get worse, FYI)
1. Hot Water

DRACONIAN ETHICS  
  
Chapter One: Hot Water  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to these characters; so don't sue me, please. Thanks.  
  
  
  
Prokhor Zakharov nonchalantly sipped his glass of vodka and put the finishing touches on his report for the season. With the punch of a button, the text document was instantly forwarded to the United Nations headquarters for viewing. He reclined in the swivel chair and stared contemplatively up at the ceiling. The lines of his forehead creased with worry.  
  
As it stood currently, the mission was not going as well as initially hoped. CEO Morgan of the Morganites had already suffered a most brutal attack on his territory by Chairman Yang of the Hive. Zakharov, too, was having difficulty keeping on good terms with Sister Miriam. The Believers that followed her authority without question were particularly dangerous soldiers.  
  
"How did I ever get myself caught in this experiment?" he wondered aloud, letting out a gruff sigh. It was not the first occasion he had thought of such things. His University was struggling to maintain itself during such war-torn times, and had been for quite a few years.  
  
A voice rang through the intercom next to the door. "Academician, you're wanted in the meeting chambers."  
  
Zakharov grumbled, gulped down the remainder of his vodka, and got to his feet. He leaned into the intercom and pressed in the yellow switch. "Who wishes to see me?" he inquired.  
  
"Lady Deirdre Skye, sir. She claims her business is urgent."  
  
"Thank you. Tell her I'll be in to see her in just a moment."  
  
"Will do, sir."  
  
Zakharov massaged the bridge of his nose. Just what he needed right now: Lady Deirdre. The youngest of the faction leaders, she had a reputation for being horribly naïve. However, her faction was the only one currently not involved in any sort of vendetta.  
  
He exited his office and walked briskly through the hall towards the room where he knew Deirdre would be. Punching in his identification code, the door opened.  
  
Lady Deirdre Skye glanced up at him immediately and stood. She was wearing a simple, flowing green dress that set off her emerald eyes rather nicely. Rich brown hair was fastened to the top of her head by light blue pointed sticks; chocolate ringlets fell into her pale, oval face.  
  
"Academician Zakharov," she addressed, bowing low. "I'm ever so appreciative that you decided to see me."  
  
"What do you need aid with, Lady?" Zakharov asked, sitting down opposite of his guest. "Energy credits? Datalinks?"  
  
"A war," she replied hesitantly, sinking into her seat once more.  
  
"A war?" scoffed the University leader. "You don't know the meaning of the word." Deirdre glared at him hatefully and slammed her fists into the table. Zakharov could have sworn he saw her wince.  
  
"Listen! I have had enough of the other factions believing that I'm merely a little girl! Now, when I say I'm in the middle of a war, by god, I mean it!" she shrieked, tears threatening to fall. It was only then that Zakharov realized that dark rings hung heavily under her eyes.  
  
He was quiet for a moment, letting the woman get a hold of herself. With a soft voice, he said, "Lady, whom are you fighting against?"  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Santiago."  
  
"I was under the impression that the two of you signed a Pact of Sisterhood," Zakharov pointed out. Deirdre blew an errant strand of hair away from her face and grimaced. The look didn't suit her.  
  
"She declared it annulled approximately three weeks ago, and our forces have been battling ever since," she explained.  
  
Zakharov hissed through his teeth. So, Colonel Santiago of the Spartans destroyed her Pact of Sisterhood. The treachery would not show well on her history profile.  
  
"How did I not hear of this?" he asked. He was, after all, the planetary governor.  
  
"We've been…keeping it secret. Neither one of us want the other factions to become involved, you see," said Deirdre. Zakharov tucked a lock of brown-streaked-gray hair behind his ear.  
  
"And yet you've come to me seeing help," he drawled. Deirdre's cheeks flushed with shame and she averted her gaze from him. She suddenly appeared dreadfully weary, as if she had aged a couple of years right before his very eyes. Zakharov adjusted his glasses.  
  
"I just…I just want it all to stop," she answered meekly. "I hate war; I hate what it does to the people involved. Scars run deeper than flesh, Prokhor."  
  
Zakharov twitched at the usage of his first name. It had been too long since he last heard it uttered. With a deep breath, he whispered, "Indeed, Lady." Deirdre continued to stare at her hands.  
  
"I want it all to stop," she repeated, shaking her head as her pink lips pressed together. "I should depart. I have already taken up…far too much of your afternoon." As she went to stand, Zakharov reached across the table and gripped her wrist.  
  
"I'll assist you," he said. Deirdre snapped around at his words and put her free hand shakily to her mouth. "Starting tomorrow, I'll send you a third of my troops."  
  
"Oh, Prokhor!" Deirdre cried, flinging herself over the table and wrapping her arms around his neck. She was crying now, her shoulders heaving with grateful sobs. Zakharov stiffened at her display of affection, but managed to pat her back a little.  
  
Finally, she let go and slid off the table, her face burning with embarrassment. A smile was flickering across her lips.  
  
"I'm sorry," she muttered, making her way towards the door. "But thank you so much."  
  
"You're…welcome," Zakharov said, watching her leave. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, he couldn't help but ponder what on earth he had just gotten himself into.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two: Coming soon… 


	2. A Failure to Communicate

DRACONIAN ETHICS  
  
Chapter Two: A Failure to Communicate  
  
Disclaimer: Again, I don't own these guys, even though I wish I did. That would be really cool. And don't kill me if a lot of what I mention isn't exactly like in the game. I haven't played the game in just about forever, and I'm too lazy to find the disk and reinstall it. But enough excuses, on with the story…  
  
  
  
  
  
Zakharov sat in his office, nursing a hot mug of coffee. The morning arrived quickly, and now he had to give the order for his selected troops to depart for the Gaian territory. He licked his lips and took in a mouthful of coffee. He hoped he knew what he was doing.  
  
The door retracted sideways and one of his top generals stepped through. "Sir," he said. "We're ready for your commands." Zakharov outlined the edge of the mug with his index finger and then looked up at the young man in front of him.  
  
"Tell the soldiers that they are to be as loyal to Lady Deirdre as they were to me. If they die on Gaian soil, their bodies will be brought back to the University for a proper cremation. And…tell them to fight with spirit."  
  
"Spirit, sir?" asked the general.  
  
"Lady Deirdre expects my reinforcements to win her the war. The University needs that to happen if Miriam is to realize that she cannot defeat us," Zakharov clarified. "Make yourself useful and move them out."  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
The man left, and the door slid shut behind him. Zakharov put his head in his hands and groaned. It was too early to have to say such things. He knew how vicious Colonel Santiago was in battle, for she had destroyed Brother Lal and his Peacekeeping faction over forty years ago.  
  
And he knew he was most likely sending his soldiers into certain death.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Deirdre felt hollow. She couldn't remember when the inanition decided to drape itself over her, but she figured it was brought about by the vendetta. The full-length mirror in the corner of the room caught her attention.  
  
Getting to her feet, she went to stand before it. The glassy surface reflected her ache; her fatigue. Gray patches stained the skin under her dull green eyes. She traced her tired face with a tentative hand. Once Zakharov's forces came to her aid, the war would end; at least, she trusted so. Deirdre understood that she needed to keep positive, but it was so strenuous…  
  
The holoscreen blipped, meaning someone was calling her. Deirdre tore her vision from the mirror and came to sit at the desk.  
  
— Colonel Santiago on frequency 6.43. Do you accept? —  
  
A frigid rush of fear shot up Deirdre's spine, but, against her better judgment, she consented. The screen wavered for a second, and then the stately face of Santiago appeared. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, making her skin appear stretched. The black orbs of her eyes were fixated upon the young faction leader.  
  
"Lady Deirdre, how lovely to see you," she spoke crisply. "Are you ill, my dear? You don't look so well.."  
  
"Whose fault is that?" Deirdre spat as fiercely as she could muster. Santiago smirked and titled her head up.  
  
"So fiery!" she bellowed. "You should be trembling with fear."  
  
"Let me be, Santiago. I am not in the mood for your taunting."  
  
"Ah, but I have a proposal," Santiago said, leaning into the screen. Deirdre could only image what she was about to offer. "I will end this war…if you send me your datalinks on advanced spaceflight and applied gravitonics. Once these requirements are met, I will call off my troops. If they are not, consider the Gaians a liability that I will dutifully wipe from Chiron."  
  
Deirdre stared blankly at Santiago, a numb sensation crawling through her hands and feet. There was no way she could give up those datalinks. For once Santiago had them, Chiron might as well be destroyed. It was Deirdre's task not to give up those secrets.  
  
"Perhaps I could interest you in some different information, Colonel —"  
  
"No…no, I think not," sneered Santiago. "I take it that you will not succumb to my proposition. Very well. Have a pleasant day, Lady."  
  
The vidscreen flashed to black and Deirdre noticed a stream of water trickling down her cheek. She smeared it away, and yet more followed. "Why am I crying?" she demanded loudly, gritting her teeth. "I try to persuade the others that I'm not a child, and here I am, wiping tears from my face! Stop crying, Deirdre!"  
  
"Lady!" shouted the voice of her errand boy, Abel. He was banging ruthlessly on the door. Deirdre, shocked out of her tears, rushed to open it for him. Abel, a skinny boy with platinum hair in curls, was panting furiously. "There's a malfunction…with your…intercom, so…I ran all the way from…the fourth floor…"  
  
Deirdre dried her damp eyes casually. "What is your news, Abel, dear?" she asked.  
  
"Soldiers…heading this way, Lady," he wheezed. Deirdre's breath stuck dryly in her throat.  
  
"What emblem is on their uniforms?" she pried. "I must know!"  
  
"I'm not sure, milady," Abel replied, throwing up his shoulders helplessly. "You could come down to the command center and see for yourself, if you wish."  
  
"I do wish. Let's make haste."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Lady Deirdre threw herself into the command center and stormed up to one of the large monitors on the wall. "Show what on earth is happening out there," she insisted. The screen instantly brought up the shaky image of marching ground troops. Their uniforms were dark tan and bore the familiar atom insignia of the University. Deirdre let go a gruff sigh of relief.  
  
"This is roughly ten miles from Gaia's Landing," said Abel. "What's the University doing here, if you don't mind my asking?"  
  
"Zakharov agreed to help fight the war," Deirdre explained. "I just didn't think his troops would arrive so quickly. I must go tell him that they're here; I'll be back in time to welcome them." She left the room and proceeded to climb up the stairs leading her to her living quarters.  
  
So, Zakharov lived up to his word. Perhaps he had some sort of ulterior motive for aiding her? Deirdre shook her head and decided to take whatever goodwill she could find. Besides, it wasn't like her to question others' intentions.  
  
She set up the frequency for the University base and hit 'send'. The screen went snowy for a moment, but soon, Zakharov answered. Deirdre could tell he was having a tough time keeping his eyes open.  
  
"Sorry if I woke you," she apologized, attempting to cover her smile. Zakharov rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  
  
"You did, but that's what I get for sleeping at my desk," he replied with a yawn.  
  
"Your men are about ten miles from Gaia's Landing," Deirdre told him. Zakharov perked up considerably. "Thank you so much. If there's any way I could possibly ever thank you…"  
  
"I'm not asking for any sort of payment, you realize."  
  
"Oh, I know," Deirdre rebounded.  
  
"However, if you could met me somewhere…"  
  
Deirdre's eyebrows shot up until they almost disappeared into her curly bangs. "Meet you?" she breathed. "When? Where?"  
  
"Tonight," Zakharov said softly. "In about one hour. We'll meet in the bay about twenty miles from your Last Rose of Summer. Agreed?"  
  
"Zakharov, I don't know why…"  
  
"Agreed?" he repeated. Deirdre's mind was racing. There was definitely an ulterior motive to this move; she just couldn't see it at that point. With a curt nod of her head, she concurred.  
  
"All right," she consented. "One hour."  
  
"I won't be late."  
  
Zakharov disconnected the transmission and leaned back in his chair. Calling on Deirdre to ask for help with Miriam was a long shot, but he had to try. After all, he was doing her a favor. It was only natural to ask for a favor in return. He took a sip of vodka and stared down at his watch.  
  
"I should get properly dressed," he mused aloud, getting to his feet.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Deirdre was smiling uncontrollably. "Zakharov wanted to talk to me in private," she murmured to no one in particular. Her eyes caught the mirror against the wall and she bit her lip. "I'm blushing. Why am I blushing?" Sure, his eyes were gorgeous, but he was a lot older than her. Of course, they were all older than they were supposed to be. Recent technology allowed the faction leaders, and wealthy aristocrats, to lead longer lives. But still…  
  
She stood and walked over to her closet. As the door slid open, she instantly dove for her favorite dress. It had seen many balls and charity events and counsel meetings and was quite worn out, but still lovely. Deirdre undressed and slipped it on.  
  
The delicate fabric clung flatteringly to the curves of her hips, and then pooled around her feet. Deirdre did up her hair with an ornate butterfly pin and clipped a jade necklace around her neck to match the dress.  
  
With a twirl, she decided she was ready to go.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Woo…second chapter done. I actually forgot all about it; that's it took me so long to write this. Anyways, the next installment should prove interesting, eh? Keep in mind, this IS a romance fic. 


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